


in the dark of the night

by tameable



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Developing Relationship, M/M, hooray!, starscream gets to be extra emotionally constipated
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-24
Updated: 2020-01-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:35:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22381933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tameable/pseuds/tameable
Summary: Something's up with Starscream. Megatron doesn't get answers, but that's alright.
Relationships: Megatron/Starscream
Comments: 4
Kudos: 77





	in the dark of the night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zoombow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zoombow/gifts).



> for @zoombow over on tumblr!! happy birthday to a lovely friend 🎉🎉

Starscream keeps shifting in his seat, wings twitching. Crosses his long legs. Shifts. Un-crosses and re-crosses them. As he does so, a wing hits one of his fellow seekers where they sit at the same table. He hunches in and crosses his arms, too.

Most concerning of all, though, he’s _quiet._

Megatron downs the last of the cube he’d been savoring- yes, _savoring,_ and definitely not just so he could linger in the rec room to keep an optic on his second. He tosses the remains into the recycler as he leaves.

He’s not sure what’s bothering his… not-quite-lover. They’re too antagonistic for that. Still, something in Megatron’s chest seems to squeeze at the sight of Starscream so drawn into himself.

There’s none of the bravado that he usually displays; Wings up, claws gesturing, voice holding his fellow seekers captive with some sort of story, be it truthful or not. Starscream had a penchant for subtle manipulation that he exercised at every opportunity. It’s a large part of how he ascended the Decepticon ranks, even.

 _Where is that tenacity now?_ Megatron thinks. Optics weigh heavy on the expanse of his back as he quits the rec room.

Soundwave waits for him on the bridge, the datapad in his servos handed over for Megatron’s review in short order. Megatron doesn’t look at it as he takes it, stopping Soundwave’s early departure with the statement of his designation.

There’s a pause. Megatron gets the distinct feeling that Soundwave knows what he’s going to ask already. 

“Yes, my lord?”

Megatron clears his vocalizer. “Clear Starscream’s schedule from the beginning of the night cycle until the beginning of the day. There’s something I need to discuss with him.”

Soundwave nods. “Did you have a replacement in mind for his shift?”

“Whoever you think is the best fit,” Megatron says, waving it away. As long as he gets his time with Starscream tonight, he doesn’t much care.

Or rather, he cares very much, and it _bothers_ him. This sort of change should be a welcome one— Starscream clearly isn’t in the state of processor to plot anything. He gains a certain air about him when he is. It makes him conniving with an extra bite of sarcasm, a combination that Megatron can’t help but find captivating.

He wants to push back when Starscream is like that. To confront him, get into his business, tear into his secrets. To leave Starscream open and vulnerable beneath him with no complaints to be heard.

Starscream, as he’s been acting recently, is not the mech Megatron has been growing slowly fonder of.

Megatron wipes a servo down his faceplates and shakes his helm. Some mech hands him a datapad and starts rambling about supplies and Megatron nods along, distracted. At least that’s one thing that’s stayed the same. No matter what’s wrong with Starscream now, he always manages to distract.

The night cycle feels like it’s a long time coming. When it finally does, though, it begins with Starscream arriving for his shift— not late— and demanding to know what happened to it.

“You weren’t informed?” Megatron asks as he’s about to leave. He looks to Soundwave.

“Soundwave; thought it better if Starscream was not informed. Gives time to hide.”

Starscream snarls, wings held high in vexation. There’s less bite to it than usual. “So this is _your_ doing!” Starscream says, shoving a clawed digit into Megatron’s chest.

Megatron curls a fist around the offending servo’s wrist. “It is,” he says simply, assuredly, and tugs Starscream along to somewhere more private.

They end up in Megatron’s quarters despite Starscream’s efforts to reclaim his wrist. Megatron doesn’t miss the insistence that _I need to work, you old rust bucket! Do you_ want _the Nemesis to fall apart? Not like you would understand how to run this place without me_ —

Starscream squawks, cutting himself off, as Megatron swings him by the wrist into his quarters. He stumbles on those impractical heeled thrusters and whirls around.

“What is the meaning of this?” he hisses, rubbing theatrically at his wrist. There’s not even a scuff on his paint.

“ _You_ are the meaning of this,” Megatron growls. “You and your moping! And do you expect me to believe your sudden work ethic for something other than your schemes? Forgive me, dear Starscream, but I know you. And this? This _isn’t you._ ”

“It could be. Perhaps your processor is too slow to function anymore—” he smiles nastily— “ _Dear leader_.”

Megatron steps forward. Starscream steps back.

“Deflection won’t work here. Now tell me. What’s wrong?” 

Starscream curls into himself. No more claws on Megatron’s chest. Those red optics flash, fangs bared, even as he shrinks back. “Don’t delude yourself into believing you care.”

Megatron squares his broad shoulders. “I do.”

A flick of wings. Starscream turns partially away, glaring. Megatron vents heavily.

His disaster of a SIC isn’t going to relent.

Megatron does so instead, letting his shoulders relax. He approaches Starscream slowly with his servos outstretched. Starscream shifts on his pedes but doesn’t do anything else.

One large wing lifts in shock as Megatron brushes his digits along the sensitive edge.

“What do you think you’re doing?” He still doesn’t shy away.

Megatron catches Starscream’s optics and holds them, now running a servo over the broad expanse of metal.

“I thought it was obvious?”

Starscream’s struts ease minutely. His optics are deep and red as they search in Megatron’s own for an explanation. A stutter of vents accompanies the uncrossing of Starscream’s arms.

“Don’t,” he warns quietly. Odd, Megatron thinks. The vocalization is almost smooth, though it holds a jagged edge to it.

“Don’t what?” Megatron asks, stalling his ministrations. 

Starscream’s engine turns over. His wings are held low. “Don’t give me that look.”

“Fine, then,” Megatron says, rolling his shoulders in a shrug. His optics go dark as he offlines them. Servos resume their comforting caresses. They hold a moment of silence between them.

Starscream breaks it with the soft clinking of metal on metal as he shimmies himself into Megatron’s arms.

Megatron’s engine purrs. The sensation is wholly new; it feels like a step into Starscream’s spark he never thought he’d be permitted to take.

“Don’t think you’ve won anything,” Starscream says, shocking Megatron back to focus on… whatever this is they’re sharing. A forehelm presses itself into the crook of Megatron’s collar assembly. “I’m— I was—”

He snarls, banging his forehelm on dense gray armor. Not hard enough to dent his pretty little helm, of course.

Megatron tightens his embrace. Maybe a tad too tight, though Starscream doesn’t complain. He knows Megatron’s nature, as Megatron knows his. Perhaps it’s more of a comfort right now.

One he needed— The scent of Starscream’s polish is barely there. Whatever has been plaguing his processor, it’d evidently taken more of a toll on Starscream than Megatron had realized.

“You don’t have to spill everything now.” Servos draw along wing edges, coming around to cradle Starscream’s small waist. They share another look, this one quiet with the understanding that they wouldn’t mention the turn of events that led to this.

His normally cantankerous SIC allows himself to be bundled against Megatron’s chest as he lays them down on the berth. Wings flap and settle as the berth covers are drawn over them.

“You have the first shift of the morning cycle?” Starscream whispers. Megatron can feel it against his armor.

Digits smoothe across red and blue plating. Maybe Starscream will find his words yet.

“Go to recharge, Starscream,” Megatron replies, just as soft. “I’ll be here.”

_Always._


End file.
